Three
by Luminous Lu
Summary: Welcome to the Three series, a set of one-shots, or vignettes, focusing on the three years Juliet and Sawyer spent on the Dharma Initiative, between 1974 and 1977. Each chapter will be an independent episode. I hope you enjoy reading! :
1. Night Arrangements

**Three**

Welcome to the **Three** series, a set of one-shots, or vignettes, focusing on the three years Juliet and Sawyer spent on the Dharma Initiative, between 1974 and 1977. Each chapter will be an independent episode, and my intention is to post them in chronological order; in case that doesn't happen, I will let you know and place the story in our timeline.

Thank you I advance for reading. Constructive criticism is welcome, and so are comments. :D

**Note**: a big 'thank you' goes to my girl, Kari, who spell-checked this fiction for me.

**Night arrangements**

She stares at the ocean in front of her, her legs dangling from the dock, as the waves crash beneath it. The darkness doesn't allow her to see far away, but for now the water is enough to calm her down, to make her head weigh a little less than before, to slow the pitter-patter of her heart.

He's sitting right next to her, as if he's looking out for her. She just promised to stay for two more weeks, to go and find out if any of their other friends and acquaintances are on the island, and she doesn't know if it was the wrong or right decision, but it makes her feel uneasy. His presence makes her feel uneasy. It's like she can't break down in front of him. She's afraid of his judgement, of his opinion, she who was never afraid of anyone's opinions before. The uncertainty of her feelings in his presence comes mostly from that embarrassment, as if she was a school girl trying not to gush when she saw her boy crush go by.

These feelings, even though they're not the last on her mind, are far from being her primary concern. Their life is her primary concern. She doesn't know what the future has in store for them. She can predict what will happen in the United States of America the next day, but she doesn't know if she is going to be alive to witness it, or even if she should witness whatever it is that is going on in the world. The repercussions her presence may have at this time (being in two places at the same time, who would have thought they'd be the ones to do it?) are unknown, but a fierce presence takes her mind, as if to remind her that 1974 is not really her time.

The strange thing about that issue is that she feels at home. It worries her, that her being there might not be right, but now she feels at home. In 1974 everything is right in her life: her parents haven't divorced, her sister doesn't have cancer, and even though her lovely nephew isn't a part of the world yet, she has never met him to begin with, so she doesn't actually miss him. She feels, even though this is not where she should be, the safety of a home. Maybe it was all supposed to bring her here.

She feels him move beside her, and their forearms touch lightly. She's comforted by his presence, by his patient smile, though she can feel him growing restless. Sawyer was never a man to stay at the same place for too long, or to be still for a long period of time. She understands him, and turns her face to look at his, with the intent of telling him he can go, he can leave her alone with her own thoughts. The sight in front of her, though, is different from what she expected.

His arms are pinned behind him, supporting the weight of his torso; his face is turned straight ahead, his chin tilted slightly up, his eyes closed. He's whispering something, his lips moving softly, his breath coming out with just a little bit of sound. She finds herself staring, taking him in for the first time. She tries to make sense of what he's saying; it doesn't take long for her to realize he's singing, that low, almost inaudible whisper translating into what's perhaps a pop song, or a country classic. She doesn't know, and she doesn't care to know. All she asks for is that he doesn't stop, that his voice keeps accompanying the water, and lulling her into a state of sleepiness, almost like a high conscience moment.

Her prayers go unanswered as soon as he realizes she is staring at him. His eyes open suddenly, focusing on her face, which startles her out of her daze. She doesn't know how long it's been since she's had her eyes on his lips.

He seems embarrassed, almost childlike, when he realizes she was staring at him. It takes a moment for his smug smile to reach his face, and for his dimples to show; the same moment it takes for her to regain her composure, smiling lightly.

"You didn't tell me you were singer," she says, her smile widening when she realizes, even in the darkness, that his cheeks are slightly redder.

"I could've made it to the hall of fame, Blondie." He smiled in response to her words. "If only they'd let me."

Her laughter fills the small space between them. It isn't the normal laughter, the low rumbling from the inside of her chest that used to make everyone around her smile. It was a quiet laugh, her chest heaving slightly. He laughs lightly, too, and looks straight up, his face growing serious.

Juliet sees the seriousness is his face and her own smile crumbles.

"I wonder how we're going to stay, how will we make them believe we don't mean any harm." She murmurs, and he nods.

"It's just two weeks, Blondie."

"No, it's not." His inquisitive face makes Juliet roll her eyes, smiling slightly. "It's going to take much longer than that to check every corner of the island, James. We're staying for a while."

He shakes his head "You promised two weeks. I don't expect you to stay any longer than you're supposed to." She hears the disappointment in his voice, and it makes her stomach drop a little, regretful of even starting that conversation.

"I'll stay for as long as you stay," she whispers, and his face turns, his eyes locking with hers. She feels the charge for the first time, the chemistry they have and the possibility that lies within them, but pushes the thoughts away quickly. "I don't know anyone back in the real world, James. Wouldn't make much sense for me to leave alone anyway."

His face lights up with a dimpled smile, and Juliet fights not to follow it, not to let herself be lured into the depths of his eyes.

"Well then, Blondie. I'm glad you're in for the long ride."

She finally smiles, her eyes leaving his to follow the trail to the light of the moon, right above the sea. Their forearms touch again, and a giggle leaves her throat, as she gets to a state that is very close to giddy.

A noise behind them makes both their smiles vanish, and Juliet follows Sawyer as he stands up. They stare into the darkness of the path that leads to the barracks, fear invading them for a moment. They don't touch each other; Sawyer's arms are stretched along his body, at an angle that looks strangely protective of the woman behind him; Juliet's limbs are still limp

Sawyer's body relaxes as he realizes that the man who approaches them is Horace, his hair tied behind his neck, his usually clumsy walk marking the pavement. Juliet takes a deep breath and, despite the smile on the other man's face, she can tell Sawyer still feels uneasy.

"We cleared out a house for you," he says loudly as he approaches them. "Your friends are already in there. It's a two bedroom house, so I guess you'll have to figure out a way to give the lady some space."

Juliet observes as Sawyer's charm grows into place. It's like watching him put on a mask; he goes from James to Sawyer in a second; from emotionally clumsy guy to self-indulgent conman, all in a small fraction of time.

She sees it because she can do it as well as he does. She can go from Juliet, Jules, the fragile doctor who is still heartbroken because of the many people she has lost in her life, to Juliet-the-other, self-sufficient, witty and always secretive.

They both have their masks on, even though Horace's concern for their well-being seems genuine. He rambles about a house, a place he's settled for the four of them.

"Just because you're only staying for a while, doesn't mean you have to sleep out in the jungle, right?" he continues, and Sawyer smiles an irresistible smile.

"Alrighty, Horace. My friends and I are thankful, I assure you." His snarky tone goes unnoticed to Horace, but not to Juliet, who struggles not to giggle.

An awkward smile takes up time between them, as Horace regards the two of them, and as Juliet stares, extremely amused, at a very uncomfortable Sawyer. After a few moments, Horace indicates the way to the barracks and smiles.

"Shall we?"

---------------------------

The house Horace provided for them is the classic Dharma house, like so many they have been in. The pantry is filled with food and other things they might need, and when Juliet and Sawyer get there, Miles and Jin are already eating.

"So, Juliet, you leaving tomorrow?" Miles tone is almost judgemental, and she finds herself looking the other way before answering his question.

"No. I'm staying for a little while." She replies, looking through the window to the outside of the house. Sawyer is on the other side of the living room, sprawled out in the couch, his eyes closed. She knows he's listening, but she doesn't want to give him away, so her eyes turn outside once again. "Why, are you leaving tomorrow?" she hears herself ask.

Miles shakes his head before he answers. He finishes the spoon full of Dharma cereal he is eating and looks up at her to reply. "No. I'm staying."

"He worries about sleeping," Jin blurts out, and Miles pushes his shoulder lightly, but also aggressively. Juliet knows what the worry is about; she's the woman, in 1974 she has to get the room to herself, otherwise it can be considered odd. She also knows that for her to get the room, one of the men will have to sleep on the couch.

Sawyer opens one eye and stares at Juliet, who stares right back at him. Their eyes don't lose each other while he speaks up. "Worried 'bout what, Bruce?"

Miles looks at them as if they're all stupid, and Juliet feels like punching him to the ground.

"I don't want to be the inconvenient one, but really. She's a woman. She'll need the whole room to herself and…"

"One of us will have to sleep on the couch." Sawyer finishes. "Well, Bruce, since you're talking about it anyway, you might be the one to sleep there…"

"No way, man! She can sleep in the other room, and why should I have to be the one to…"

"Guys…" she tries to interrupt, but the effort is pointless.

"She can sleep on the big room, she gets more space to…" Sawyer and Miles keep trading possibilities, and the fact that they are ignoring her starts to get to her nerves. When she tries to interrupt one last time, and they both ignore her, she settles against the wall.

"Guys!" Juliet yells loud enough that they both look at her, stunned. Miles has got a spoon on the way to his mouth (she wonders why he keeps eating while having a fight with the other man) and Sawyer's face is now half shocked, half amused. "I can sleep in the couch, thank you very much."

"No way, Blondie."

"No, we'll find a way."

Juliet tries not to laugh at the way both men now want that spot, but she's made up her mind. "Shut up, the two of you. I'll sleep on the couch, you can share a bedroom or take up the other one as well." She walks into the master bedroom, where Horace told her she would be able to find some clothes, and chooses a t-shirt and a pair of flannel pants as pajamas; she walks into the bathroom, while the men are still silent, and turns on the water, preparing for a shower.

She doesn't look at herself in the mirror. Juliet is very much aware of her beauty and of the effect she has on men, but she has taught herself not to rely on that. She peels her clothes off, one by one, her hair being the last item loosened; she enters the shower and the feeling of water running down her body is almost orgasmic. She washes herself and allows her mind to wander.

She's used to this, she's had this life for three years before the Oceanic people walked into her life. But it seems so far away, so many lives ago. She never thought she'd end up having feelings for one of them, or that she'd fight Ben and Alpert and whoever turned against her. Strangely enough, the Juliet she knew in 2001, before she was brought to the island, was much sadder than the Juliet who is in this shower right now, in 1974. There's a feeling of contentedness, almost like what she felt in the dock, when she realized she was meant to be there.

She finishes her shower and dries herself. She's standing in front of the mirror with a brush in her hand (she wonders who might have used it before her) when she hears a knock on the door.

"Yes?" she calls out. She dresses herself quickly, her hair almost combed through.

"Blondie?" Sawyer's voice is soft, almost whispered. "Jin and Miles took over the room with single beds, so I'm sleeping on the couch."

Juliet opens the door to find a startled Sawyer, still dirty and muddy from his previous adventures. She smiles slightly at him, careful not to be too nice, as she passes him on the way to the hall. "No, James. You're sleeping in that bedroom. I'll sleep on the couch. I probably won't sleep much, anyway."

She walks to the couch and lays down, pulling a blanket on top of her. Sawyer is still beside the bathroom, his expression unreadable. Juliet looks back from the couch and sees him walk into the room, closing the door loudly behind himself, and she giggles, settling against the pillow.

Against her best predictions, she falls asleep immediately, exhaustion taking over. She sleeps deeply until she feels a pair of arms taking her body, and her eyes shoot open, but a known whisper calms her down.

"Shhhh, Blondie. No way in hell you're gonna sleep on that couch." Sawyer whispers against her ear, and she allows her head to fall on his shoulder, almost asleep again. A moment later, he lays her down on the freshly made bed, and she turns to her side as he tucks the covers around her.

There's a pause, and her eyes open. She almost wishes he would plant a kiss on her cheek or forehead. She craves that kind of attention. Still, he's timid, which is so unlike him that it makes her want to laugh. He touches her shoulder lightly, the backs of his fingertips grazing her skin lightly, as he whispers "Sleep tight, Juliet."

He closes the bedroom door behind him and Juliet smiles, her heart finding a small spot of comfort for the first time in a very long while.


	2. Top of the World

_Hi, everyone! I'm really glad this__ series had such a warm reception. I had been out of the Lost fan fiction circuit for a couple of years, but it feels great to be back, and to have such lovely people reading my fanfiction. :) Thank you so much for each and every one of your comments and reviews. _

_This one-shot was written mostly in a very angsty mood. I'd like to leave a WARNING, because it addresses some issues that might be regarded as triggers, related to suicide and depression. I'd just like to leave that warning. _

_I hope you enjoy this piece. Comments are welcome, as well as constructive criticism. _

_PS: To the person who commented with 'where's Dan?', the truth is I completely forgot about him. But I already figured out a way to include him later on; for now, let's just call this half-alternative universe, LOL. _

**Top of the World**

Her feet are set firmly on the ground beneath her. The rocks are steady, and the grass around her legs tickles slightly, even through the fabric of her khaki pants. Her body is leaning forward, not much but enough to make a small angle against the wind that rushes against her face. She closes her eyes, opening her mouth slightly and feeling as if she has been invaded by a spirit, by a foreign entity that is in total and utter communication with the nature around her.

Mother nature, she would think if she were a believer.

Her arms are dangling from her sides, limp and relaxed, even though her pose is anything but; her hair brushes against her neck over and over, waving free, and she is finally able to move the tips of her fingers, flex the air between them as if it was solid.

Juliet left the barracks a couple of hours before. She was feeling too much, hearing too much, knowing too much. It gets her. There are times in her life when she can feel herself starting to crumble, and that's how it begins. She feels too much, she hears too much, more than she should. The simple gesture of picking up a brush from the vanity becomes a complex exercise about the texture and weight of the wooden piece; the doorbell is formed by a complexity of sounds and bells and mechanical issues she doesn't know but that she recognizes.

The three men she is sharing the house with are noisy. Miles won't shut up, and Jin is taking that as an opportunity to improve his English, by having senseless conversations with the other man, whose repertoire of themes seems unending. Juliet often sits in the living room, the small kitchen behind her, and allows herself to be lulled by their voices, by the stalling of Jin's stilted English, by Miles' rapid-fire jumpy speech. She finds herself drifting into sleep more times than she'd like.

Today, she can't stand their voices. She sat at her usual place on the couch and closed her eyes, but she could perceive every inflection of Miles' voice, she could hear the ups and the downs, the intonation, the fast paced breaths taken between words. She could tear apart every word, every syllable. She could predict when Jin would stutter or mispronounce a word.

She could also feel the fabric under her fingers, the entangled fibers that compose the flowery and slightly corny pattern. She could feel them move with her own breathing, like she had power over the composition of the material. It gets to be too much, too soon, and she takes a deep breath, trying to calm her brain.

Sawyer isn't noisy but his presence makes her feel uneasy at times like these. It's not like she has many other experiences like these to compare, but it always seems like he can see through her more than she can see through him. He stares at her with his brows slightly raised, and she feels as if he's reading her thoughts, taking over her brain and experiencing the whole thing with her. She's used to having the upper hand regarding information; she knew before anyone else in this room what each and everyone of the survivors did, their crimes and passions and dreams. And she's used to analyzing, not being the one under scrutiny.

She feels the way he looks at her, too. She feels a certain amount of warmth wherever his eyes are set upon, whether it's on her face, on her arms or even her chest, which makes her hide slightly and roll her eyes at his sudden blush. She feels it more than she normally does, and that is the one sensation that becomes overwhelming, and that leads her to leave the house quickly and to walk aimlessly through the stiff wind until she's on this very spot.

This isn't the highest spot on the island, but it's certainly in the competition; the ocean is in front of her, dark and blue and green, but instead of giving her peace, the churning waters below only accentuate the rage she feels.

Her eyes are open now, blue against blue. Her mouth is still open and her arms are still relaxed, but she forces them to go upwards and outwards, her hands open wide, fingers stretched. She reminds herself of the figure of Christ on the cross, that image she saw so many times while she was stuck in that Catholic School. It makes her feel slightly sorry for herself, in the same way she felt sorry for the man whose image was so precious, but always associated with death.

She doesn't know how to pray, but in that moment, she wishes she did. She doesn't know what's wrong with herself; actually, she does, but none of those things are things she can fix.

Her feet are now closer to the edge of the cliff, only a few inches between the tip of her boot and the border of the rock. With one single step, she could put and end to all that, she could let herself go and not think of anything anymore, never feel anything again. It would be so easy.

Her tears come up unexpectedly, her cheek the first to notice the change in temperature and texture. The first tear makes its fast way down her cheekbone, and the wind drags it back, so instead of falling from her chin, it rolls down her neck, stopping only when the liquid isn't enough to carry it through anymore. The second and third tears come down at the same time, one of them describing a path on the valley that sides her nose, and the other one meeting its end on her lips.

The exacerbated sensorial rush she was experiencing before is heightened by the tears, and the difference between hot and cold, wet and dry becomes unbearable. The first sob takes over her chest little after the seventh tear falls down (she's counting them unconsciously, which makes her even angrier at herself), and it's painful, as the muscles of her thorax spasm.

Still, she doesn't move. The pain takes over her chest, but her arms are still wide open. No sound comes out of throat, the only thing she hears are the fast paced breaths she takes to contain the pain. Her neck stretches, she allows her head to fall back and to ignore the piercing ache her chest holds. Her eyes are closed again, her hands still as far away from her body as they can be.

Her feet are closer to the edge now. One inch. One inch and she could hit the end of it, she could finally be free.

The wind starts blowing harder than before, and she feels as if she's swept off her feet. She still feels the ground beneath her soles, but the way it curls around her, the only remaining sound the howls caused by the dislocation of air, is comforting. For a moment, she forgets where she is, she forgets about all the incredible circumstances of her existence, and just feels.

She's finally free. Her mouth opens up again, and she takes a large mouthful of air into her lungs. Her fingers are moving, the tips feeling the wind against the sensitive skin. Her clothes are moving softly around her, and she feels cushioned, protected.

That's when it hits her. The pain comes back with a loud bang, and the scream she hears nearly pierces her eardrums. It takes her a moment to realize that she is the one screaming, she's the one clutching her stomach and chest. She makes all the rage and anger disappear into here voice, into the space in front of her. She screams once and again, feeling her spirit get empty, shallow. The anger seems to have taken everything she is with it. She feels as if there isn't one ounce of herself inside of her body.

Her sobs take over her body, which is now shaking in its entirety. She stumbles back and brings one hand to her face, her usual contained self taking over and trying to ease the pain, but it seems to refuse to. She hears herself again, and even though she can still hear echoes of the previous scream, the sounds that come through her mouth right now are quick, just as fast as her breathing. Not-so-quiet moans of pain instead of pleasure, the only indicators of the pain she feels.

There's a noise behind her, and she stills every movement of her body. For a moment, she believes she was able to still her beating heart.

Her head turns instinctively to her left side and her temple bangs softly against an unexpected source of warmth. She feels two long limbs coming around her frame and she doesn't care to look back. She knows who it is without looking.

Juliet's head falls down into Sawyer's shoulder, and he brings one hand up to press it against him. He doesn't talk, doesn't crack witty jokes, doesn't make a sound. His left arm is wrapped around her waist from behind, his right making its way up around her chest to press her head sideways against his left shoulder.

She feels her weight sag against him, and allows him to keep her up. The sobs haven't stopped, but the intensity was reduced as soon as he touched her. She hears the sounds she's making, the soft moans that are now compared to mewls. Her eyes are still closed, and her mind starts to focus solely on her skin, of the feel of his arms against her chest, of his stubble against her forehead; he shushes her softly, cooing like he would a small child, and she's not aware of how long it has been since he embraced her.

She's still not sure of how long she's been in that position when he dares to talk.

"Can we sit down, Blondie?" she hears the smile on his voice and it only makes her want to cry more. "It's not that you're heavy or anything, but I have a feeling you'd feel better if you weren't hanging from your waist."

The chuckle that leaves her mouth catches her by surprise, but as soon as she tries to stand up on her own, she finds out her legs are still too wobbly to move. He notices it at the same time, and in a swift motion, takes her in his arms, just like he did the night they first got to the Dharma Initiative.

She doesn't know where she's being taken, but relaxes into the warmth of his arms. When he finally settles down, he doesn't let her go; she sits sideways on his lap, her arm wrapped around his neck and her forehead resting against his cheek. They've never been this close before, but somehow it doesn't bother her. His body seems to know, to indicate that this is all for comfort, and never for anything else. He's a gentleman, despite what previous information on his character would let her guess.

Her sobs have finally subsided, and she takes a deep breath to try to calm herself, but her chest hurts.

"You wanna talk about it?" he asks softly, his voice like honey, like syrup, like anything sweet she can think of. It's almost intoxicating, after all the pain and emptiness.

She shakes her head. "I don't know what I want to talk about." He stays silent for a small period of time, and she feels the need to excuse herself. "Listen, James, thank you for coming here, but…"

"Don't you say it, Juliet." His voice is still sweet, but she can hear the resolve in his tone. "I came up here because I wanted to help, and I'm here for that."

"Yes, and I'm thankful, but…"

"No but. If you don't want to talk about it, there's only one thing I can do." Her forehead is still against his cheek, and she can feel every word he says on her skin, the sound reverberating through her. She starts to move away, but he takes her face in his hands, looking down at her with a smile. "All I can offer you is a clean slate. For the both of us. Start over, forget whatever happened before. We don't need to tell each other anything."

"I already know a few things about you," she says with a small smile, her usual wit starting to make its appearance inside of her.

"Yeah, well. We don't need to talk about what happened. We'll start over. We'll live in Dharmaville and have jobs and do whatever we need to do to stay," he says, and she feels herself smile.

"That would be very nice, James."

"Thanks, I'm part of the bright kids," he says with a smile on his face, and she chuckles. The tears seem to be gone, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Wanna go back, now?"

She nods and Sawyer helps her get up from the ground. He turns to walk in front of her and she follows for a few steps. She doesn't know how to thank him, how to tell him he probably saved her life, right then. He'll never know just how thankful she feels. The anger is gone, and even though the sadness is still deep seeded in her being, she doesn't feel the despair from before.

She wants to hug him, but her embarrassment prevents her from doing so. Instead, she does the next best thing.

Speeding up her pace to catch up with him, she pulls his hand into hers, smiling up at him. "Thank you, James." She squeezes his hand lightly and he reciprocates, his dimpled smile showing up again.

"You're welcome, Juliet."

As she withdraws her hand from his, she allows her fingers to touch the palm of his hand, and her middle finger follows his until they're finally separated, and resume their walk towards the barracks.


	3. Lullaby for a Sunny Morning

**Author's note:** I am so sorry I haven't updated in a while, but I've been horribly busy with school! I'm swamped with work until July 3, so don't expect much until then, but after that I hope to finally have to time to sit and write more.

Thank you so much for your reviews and kind words. They're all very much appreciated.

This fiction was written to the sound of many songs, but one I definitely associate it with is _Lullaby for a Stormy Night_, by Vienna Teng. It's here (.com/watch?v=lp69_dByl80) in case you'd like to hear it (please ignore the Bambi video, lol). Just a suggestion, really.

I hope you enjoy the ride! Comments are always welcome.

**Lullaby for a Sunny Morning**

Tastes like pennies. A metallic, rough flavour invades her tongue like liquor, a sudden mix of warmth and something she can't quite identify.

She's not awake, not yet. She knows she's being pulled into full consciousness, but it happens slowly, almost unnoticeably, so she has enough time to feel the transition, to know that she's alive but not quite, she's awake but she's not really present.

When she and Sawyer made their way home on the night before, a few hours after he caught her on top of that mountain, she went straight to the bathroom, without a word. He respected her space; allowed her to shower quickly and then to slide into bed without eating or talking to anyone. She turned off the light in the bedroom. The hallway was still lit, so she could see the movement outside.

Juliet laid on that bed for a couple of hours, listening to the noises of the home she now shared with three men. She heard Sawyer walk into the kitchen, and she could picture Miles' face perfectly, his eyes rising from the book in front of him, curious as to where the other two had been. She had heard Sawyer's response to his expression ("None of your business, Bruce.") and noted the Asian man's silence in response.

She had followed the steps Sawyer took throughout the kitchen, preparing a quick meal without really knowing how to cook. She had heard him flip the pages of a book calmly. When she heard his steps approach the hallway, she opened her eyes for the first time to stare at the stream of light coming from underneath the door. She saw him cross the hallway to the bathroom and shower quickly, just as quickly as she had.

He sang in the shower. A slow, almost bitter lullaby, like the one she had heard him sing in the pier a few days ago; it made her smile, a genuine smile that invaded her breath, from her lungs to her throat, and that almost stopped the headache she knew was approaching. He sang, and she smiled, closing her eyes again, allowing herself to be lulled into an altered state of consciousness in which the sounds Sawyer produced took over all of her senses, leaving no space for taste, for sight, for smell.

The smile was still on her face when he stopped singing, and she heard him dry himself, and then get into the sweat pants and t-shirt he used to sleep. She heard him leave the bathroom, leaving the door ajar, and she heard his steps on the hallway. And then he stopped in front of her door, reducing the light that came in, forcing her to lift her head in order to see properly.

He didn't move, and for a moment they were both stuck between movements. It was as if time had frozen for a second, leaving them both hanging. She didn't know if she wanted him to come in, and he didn't know if he wanted to, so he stood at the door, his hand lifted and closed, his knuckles ready to hit the soft wood, to announce his arrival.

Juliet sighed, allowing her head to fall back. This break in her resolve seemed to extend itself to Sawyer, who moved slightly. His feet were apart, and she could imagine him placing the palm of his hand on the door instead of knocking. That wasn't like him, but then again he hadn't been the same for a while.

Sawyer left a moment later, his sigh following him until he got to the couch. Juliet doesn't remember falling asleep, but she knows that the last thing she does remember is the sound of his body, ruffling through the sheets.

---------------------

She's still not fully conscious. Her right leg is draped over her left as she is lying on her side, but her kneecap hurts the muscle below and she feels the need to move. Her hair is covering her face, and she feels slightly suffocated by it, lifting a hand to remove it and allowing herself to feel everything she didn't feel before, when she was still in limbo, still not awake but not quite asleep either.

This is the first time she's slept through the night without interruptions of any kind. She must have slept for about ten hours, and her body resents all the rest. Her muscles are achy, but somehow her spirits are lifted. It's as if all the crying, the breakdown, the despair from the night before had been left behind in that mountain. She's free of that weight now, or at least of a big part of it.

She smiles before even opening her eyes. She knows the pain is not there, and that's enough to make her greet the world with joy for the first time in months, maybe even years.

"It's good to see you smile like that."

Her eyes shoot open and she lifts her torso to regard the foot of her bed, where Sawyer is sitting, his legs thrown to the side of the bed in a relaxed manner. His hands are resting on his lap, and his hair is hanging on the side of his face. He looks stunning, but then again he always did, and she always noticed.

She brings a hand up to her face, pulling herself upright and trying to cover herself a little; the tank top she's wearing to sleep barely covers her full breasts, and she's very aware of the fact that he _will_, indeed, stare. When she is able to open her eyes again, however, he is gazing out the window beside her, an expression of calm washing over his face.

"What are you doing here?" she's finally able to articulate, after following the path of his eyes and realizing there's nothing outside.

"I came to see how you were doing, Blondie," he says, and crosses his fingers over his knee. "I was expecting you to have a rough night, but I didn't hear a sound from this end, and I was starting to think you'd smothered yourself while trying to muffle the sobs."

She glares at him, but the light tone in which he talks about the events of the previous day make her feel more at ease. She was dreading the conversation in which it would be brought up, she she's happy that he's addressing it in such a casual manner. Still, the glare is required and she doesn't spare him.

"No need to get pissy, Barbie, I was ready to come into the room and save you from drowning yourself in your tears."

"Is there a reason for you to be here, James? Other than mockery?" she asks, and his face turns serious. She feels a sense of coldness in the pit of her stomach, and clutches the sheets against her chest.

"Jin and Bruce Lee were called to have breakfast with Horace."

They stay silent for a moment, Juliet taking in the information and trying to make sense out of it with the small sense of awareness she has regained since she woke up. Sawyer is silent. His face reveals concern, but his pose is still genuinely relaxed.

"How long ago was that?" she manages to ask, still holding the fabric against her, as if to protect herself from the news.

"About an hour. I think it's nothin', to be honest." He looks away, and the coldness in Juliet's abdomen becomes heavier. "But we do need to align our stories."

The first thought that comes to Juliet's mind at that moment is that it is indeed strange that they've been there for a few days and they still haven't talked about that. They still haven't had a conversation with the intent of defining a story for them to tell the Dharma people. All they know for now is that their boat sank near the island, and that they have a relationship with the hostiles, but they know nothing more.

"You're right." She nods, and he smiles, his dimples showing. "Who are we?" The sigh she punctuates the question with allows him to know how weary she is of being 'someone', of pretending, of never being able to be who she wants to be.

"Listen, Juliet. We don't need to be nobody, we just gotta change our names. We don't need to do anything different from what we would in…"

"We do, James." She interrupts him, "We need to be the kind of people the Dharma Initiative would take in." She smiles when she realizes his pained expression is solely for her. "I don't like it, but that's the way things are for now."

"I know." His reply is dry, but she knows he'll come around to it. He smiles, at last, and his dimples show again, this time deeper. "So, who are you?"

"I'm Juliet Carlson."

"Nice choice."

"It's my maiden name."

"You're _married_?" His look of surprise drives her to laugh loudly, but she set her face straight a minute later.

"We're not talking about that."

He sighs and smiles, as if expecting that reaction, but she can still read the question in his eyes. "So, you think it's safe for you to use your maiden name now?"

"Why? It's not like they know who I am. Yet." Sawyer's glare makes her laugh, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "You, on the other hand, are Mr. LaFleur."

"Damn right I am. I was the commander of that boat, you know? Sailin' through the farthest seas, bringing you people from the future since 2005," They both chuckle when he is done making his point, but the sadness that invades the air is unexpected, their faces growing serious in the bright light of morning.

Juliet lowers her eyes to the bed linens, her fingernail scratching the surface lightly, and Sawyer thinks he had never seen a woman this beautiful. He loved Cassidy, but he wasn't attracted by her beauty, he was attracted by her money, and then by her willingness to give everything up for him. He loved Kate, but the first thing he noticed about her was her fierceness, the fierceness that seemed to be long gone now. This was something different. He doesn't love Juliet, he barely knows her. But that kind of beauty is uncanny, it's almost mystical. Her blonde hair is tousled from sleep, her shoulders are bare save for the spaghetti strap of her top, and the while sheets are balled up against her chest, her skin shines in the sun, and he can't tear his eyes away.

"What?" she asks, and he suddenly hears the noise again, the rustle of the tree just outside her window.

"Nothin', Blondie." He looks down at his shoes, and she looks at the window. "So, what's our story?"

"We need them to get back. We'll need to know what they told them," She says, simply, and he sighs.

"Yeah, but meanwhile." He sees her relax, and leans the small of his back against the foot of the bed. They're both more relaxed now, the sheets that were previously clutched now simply spread over her chest, and one of his knees on the bed. "What were we doing? On the boat? Who are the three of you?"

"We were taking a crew to film a documentary. About sloths," their chuckles rise in the air, and Juliet continues. "Jin is a tour guide and Miles is a cameraman. You're the captain of the boat, I'm a nurse who came along to look out for you. The rest of the documentary crew was lost in the ocean, as well as the equipment."

"Sounds like a good story." Sawyer nods and leans forward, looking at Juliet more closely.

"It's lousy. Besides, you already told Horace about the Black Rock." She makes a goofy grin and he smiles with her. "That one'll have to do. That is, if they didn't screw up already."

They stay quiet for a moment, and Sawyer finally dares to ask the question that has been lingering on his mind.

"So, how are you feeling, since yesterday?"

Juliet doesn't show how hard it is for her to answer that question. She knows he was holding out on her, not asking her everything he wanted to know, and she knew he was doing it out of concern. Now, however, she's not sure whether he's doing it out of mere curiosity, or real interest in her person. That insecurity leads her to cover herself up more fiercely again, but then she lifts her eyes to meet his.

He is sincere in his interest, she can tell. She was always good at reading people, save for the giant mistake that Edmund had been, but even then, she knew exactly what she was getting herself into. She could read people well, and she knew there was no ill intention behind Sawyer's question, and it made her feel safe, all of a sudden, made her feel cherished in a way she hadn't been for a very long time.

"It's…" the words get caught in her throat involuntarily. It's like a wall, like a cork on her windpipe, preventing her from talking. She has to fight it in order to be able to continue that sentence. "It's just… It happens sometimes, when I'm… overwhelmed."

"Overwhelmed? We were having a quiet afternoon." He says, smiling, and she knows his intention is not to question her motives, but to lighten her mood.

"I got overwhelmed by the sense of… normalcy. I rarely had that. I don't know how to deal, and my body shuts down and I need to get away, I need to run someplace and hide, and be there until it passes." She finishes the sentence with a sigh, and brings her palm to her forehead, as if it was holding the weight of her head.

"Or until you get yourself killed." She nods at his words, knowing exactly what he means. She knows she was close to death the day before, she knows that if he hadn't come up, she probably wouldn't be there. "Listen, sweetheart, I can't spend my time running uphill, looking for you every time you disappear."

The statement hangs in the air as tears fill her eyes. She decides not to cry, her hand coming up to rest against her mouth as she looks away from Sawyer's face. His expression is one of regret, as he thinks he shouldn't have gone that far, but all she wants to do is reassure him that she just doesn't know how else to react.

Sawyer lifts himself from the bed and runs a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to talk like that. I won't barge into your business again."

"No." She replies quickly, "It's not your fault, I'm just… I don't know."

He looks away and prepares to leave, but Juliet's voice makes him stop in his tracks.

"James."

"Yeah?" He doesn't turn around, and she can't fight the tears anymore.

"Thank you. For taking care of me." The last word is only murmured, a sob taking over her chest, making him turn around. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess, I wasn't like this before." She's still not crying, but she let go of the sheets and her eyes are facing him, staring at his.

Sawyer moved quickly from the door to the bed, his hand finding Juliet's cheek before she could react. He allowed his fingers to run until they found the space right behind her ear, and as he saw her eyes lift up to meet his, he lowered his face, whispering, "We're in this together. I'll take care of you, Blondie."

"Okay."


End file.
